


What he deserves

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, F/M, Fire play, Flogging, vague porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first he wanted to raise her up, wanted to be gentle to her and kind, to show her. But in the end she brought him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What he deserves

The whir of a heavy single tail flogger and the rush of air against his back preceded the sharp crack and sting as it made contact, wrapping around his rib cage and leaving a welt one side of his back to the other. It would be one mark of many and it would be gone tomorrow. But for now he tamped down his grace so the wounds would compound, so he could feel it. It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt. Of course, he had suffered many far more grievous injuries, had been torn apart and unmade, he had died several times, had been shredded by leviathins. This, it was nothing.

The skin down his back and thighs burned hot from a long session of flogging, his hands bound above his head as he balanced on the balls of his feet, body lax and breathing even, the flogger brought down in several rapid strokes before everything stilled. He could hear her behind him, hear the demon messing with her instruments and tools. Castiel took the moment for introspection, why he kept doing this, why he kept coming back, why he had started to need it so much it was a physical ache in his core when it had been too long between their sessions.

Meg was a curiosity at first, something strange, a demon that did not always work for the demons. She had changed masters, changed sides, always a bit on the outside of things really. She took what abuse was given her by those she would help, she had staid by his side in his madness, she was a curious thing. Fascinating. At first he wanted to raise her up, wanted to be gentle to her and kind, to show her. But in the end she brought him down.

It was not the base instincts of his vessel that he was prone to. It was his desire to bleed out his guilt, to suffer for the atrocities he had committed, to give penance. Castiel was under no illusion that he had committed many grave sins, why he was favored enough or valuable enough to be brought back from death was a mystery to him. But he would pay for it, any way he could, with his service, with his flesh, with everything he had to give.

And Meg took it. A flogger lashed against his back again, slick, shorter strands that were thick and many, a cat of nine tails. There were small metal bits woven into the falls that bit into his skin and drew blood. The wounds stung with whatever had been soaked along the material. Castiel could smell it over his shoulder, a strange scent of storms and ancient things, holy oil. He bit his lip, not crying out, not yet, as she continued to rend his flesh apart.

Meg let the flogger fall, pressing up against him, both of them naked and he could feel the plush swell of her breasts against the sensitive torn skin of his back. She nipped at his neck, crooning in his ear, telling him how good an angel he was. And was he such a good angel, good for being willing to submit to the punishments he deserved. He had been unable to submit to authority, to heavens will, he had been too stubborn and prideful then. And now, what did he have for it, he was lost. He was lost and he was falling and he had been found by a demon.

She moved away from him, the soft pads of bare feet on the concrete floor of the dirty abandoned warehouse they were in making barely any noise. When he felt her presence near again, he stiffened on the balls of his feet, holding himself still, willing. Then he felt it, felt the pain of divine wrath lighting up his back and he knew she had ignited the holy oil that had been embedded into the torn flesh of his body. He screamed then, rough cry from deep curling out into the empty space as he felt the lashing rend of holy fire burn into him for what felt like an eon.

Then it was gone. The fire extinguished, most likely after only a moment but his whole body still throbbed from it, barbed wire wrapped under his skin, and that he knew, that sort of thing would scorch and mark him for some time, no matter what he might do to heal with his grace, the smallest burn of holy oil would pull and fray at him. It was a reminder, it was penance, it was a wound that would stay even after they had parted, it was a gift from her.

Nails dug sharp furrows down the curve of his spine, down through the slashes of floggers and the burns of holy oil, carving him up and pulling him apart. Castiel shuddered and arched from the touch, a broken sob on his lips, manic pleasure coiled tight in his belly. He oscillated wildly between the base primal pain and fear of threat and the ecstatic pleasure of giving himself up like an offering to be purged and punished.

The rope around his wrists was cut and he fell to his knees, loose bindings hanging and his back tight and fevered with the wounds. He almost fell to his face but he kept upright on his knees, looked up for her, and wet fingers dripping oil and blood gripped his chin, pulling his face up, his gaze, compelling him to look upon her. Chest smeared sanguine with his blood and euphoric grin on her face, his vision was blurred with the pain that sang in his veins but he could still see, blinking in and out, the great gnarled horns and gaping maw of the demon, though his grace had been wounded and seeped from his back, he could see her. See her pleasure. The absolution on her lips.

Sinking down to his level, she bit at his skin and ran her hands over the fresh welts of his body, exacerbating and pulling gasps from him but he was hard and needing and so far gone. Meg just sank down onto him, rocking in his lap, whispering to him a litany of praise. It was all he wanted, needed, to be good, to be useful, to pay for what he was and what he had done, to suffer as he had inflicted on others.

It was a mess of conflicting sensation, the rush of pleasure her slick heat around him gave and the throbbing burn of his back, being pulled apart between everything he cried out and arched and writhed beneath her, going where she guided and following the press of her hands. Meg knew what he needed, she had done this many times before, had learned from Alistair himself, she knew how to punish the souls in hell that deserved it, and even if he wasn’t in hell, he knew he deserved it.


End file.
